


The Promise of Snow

by shopfront



Category: North and South (UK TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gossip, Long Engagement, Longing, Post-Canon, Snowed In, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2020-12-28 14:33:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21138254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shopfront/pseuds/shopfront
Summary: Margaret and John find themselves stranded when an unexpected snowstorm halts their train, and are forced to seek comfort and privacy away from the gossip of their fellow passengers.





	The Promise of Snow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tablelamp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tablelamp/gifts).

Margaret couldn't resist lingering by the improperly shut compartment door on her way back through the train. She knew she shouldn't intrude, but she found herself unable to resist after hearing her name mentioned by an unfamiliar voice. It reminded her of her first search for a home in Milton as she stood there, though this particular instance of eavesdropping had the benefit of being far more amusing. Margaret had a hard time holding back her giggles instead of her outrage, though the fact that even a hint of scandal was immediately upon other people's lips was sadly a rather familiar state of affairs.

"We're the talk of the train, I'm afraid," she said a short while later as she let herself back into their own compartment. "The conductor says they were hoping to have the snowbank cleared and be underway again soon, but the storm looks set to worsen. They've just sent a boy into town to fetch some carriages and they do believe we may need to disembark for the nearest village to wait it out."

John had been staring at papers in his lap with his brow furrowed when she'd entered, but he didn't hesitate to put them aside as she spoke. "You should have let me done the asking," he said, repeating earlier words even as he held his hands out to take hers.

Margaret let herself be pulled back down beside him with a laugh. "I should not have! You're still looking over the mill's papers for our meetings in London, and that's far more important. We don't know how long this weather will take to stop. You needed to double check them now, before the night becomes too dark to read and to guard against the possibility that we won't have time to look at them again tomorrow—assuming we even make it to London on time, of course, which is by no means certain now."

"Can it really be that bad out there?" John asked. Margaret raised her eyebrows at him and looked pointedly at the window, where faint specks of white were drifting through the air. They'd gone unnoticed by John during his reading, and though they were still light and few in number they were also steady and showed no signs yet of slowing.

"You're far too used to living in town," Margaret said as she leaned against him for warmth. It was perhaps a touch improper to linger in such a manner while in public, but they were engaged and there was no one in the compartment to know. The train also felt as if it were becoming colder by the minute the longer it sat still. "All that smoke to warm the air and so many people to shovel the snow for you. Our winters in Helstone weren't nearly as bitter, but I'll grant you that I'm more informed about the risks of countryside winter storms than you."

"I'll grant that you are far more informed than I on many a topic," he replied. His eyes crinkled at the corners as her cheeks warmed and she hushed him, but she didn't try to stop him when he raised her hand to kiss the back of it.

"How are they?" she asked with a nod towards the papers now discarded on the seat across from them.

"Better. Much better. I still won't rest easy until we've spoken with your financial managers, but I'm—"

"Only as concerned as you are about everything, not unduly concerned that there's a special problem?" Margaret asked, and this time he was the one to hush her as she laughed. An easy, amused silence fell between them, and they sat smiling fondly at each other as the wind wailed outside and the low chatter of the neighbouring compartments rose and fell with each new gust.

"Is what they're saying terrible?" John finally asked softly, though his smile didn't waver.

"Oh, only the usual. Miss Hale this, and Mr Thornton that. How strange it is that we're not yet married when I have money to spare, and has everyone heard about the day of that riot before we were even engaged? Sometimes I think they talk about the strike more now than when it happened. Oh, and what a scandal that we're unescorted on the train today—or should they say, unescorted on the train _tonight! _I can only imagine what your mother would have to say in response to that."

John's fingers tightened around hers, and she squeezed back gratefully. It didn't truly bother her. Those of their acquaintance in Milton knew them both well enough to comprehend the importance of getting the mill back on its feet. It had been an all consuming task for both of them, and one that rightly came above all else. Instead, if she had known the train might be delayed past nightfall by poor weather, she would have simply brought Mrs Dixon to keep them company instead of trusting they'd reach her aunt in London before the end of day. But no matter—such things could not be changed now.

Another gentle press of lips against her hand pulled her from her thoughts. "The numbers are good. Once we've settled our business, we'll visit your family before we return to Milton. It's nearly spring, and I do believe many say spring is a perfect time for a wedding."

"You know I don't mind the waiting—it was my idea!" Margaret protested as she raised her hand to touch his cheek. "But yes, let's. An early spring wedding, so there's no time for anyone to fuss."

John opened his mouth to say something else, a contemplative look on his face, but the clatter of footsteps in the corridor stopped him. They drew apart to peer through the little window, and realised that the conductor was going door to door instructing people to gather their things.

It seemed the task of shovelling the snowbank had been abandoned, and the carriages had arrived.

* 

The inn looked respectable at least, even if it was already very full judging from all the people milling about between the carriages and the entrance. But however busy it looked, Margaret couldn't help thinking rather uncharitably that it couldn't possibly be more crowded than her claustrophobic carriage. As luck would have it, she'd ended up crammed in amongst some of the very same women she'd overheard on the train.

John had unfortunately been bid to join the other men above so that all might reach the inn quicker despite the small number of carriages. While he had seemed more than willing to travel in such a manner despite the snow, Margaret had felt his absence keenly as she was jolted by the many dips in the road and stared at for the entirety of the journey. Attitudes that had seemed amusing when overheard were far more trying in proximity, even when the subject of gossip was quickly turned away from herself. But John was at the carriage door to help her down as soon as they arrived and ensure she did not slip on the icy carriage steps. The warmth of his hand was a welcome boon to her nerves even through her travelling gloves, and one that straightened her back and lengthened her stride.

"The driver is one of the innkeeper's men," John murmured in her ear as they headed inside, while giggles and muffled comments followed in their wake. The snow was falling faster now, stinging her cheeks with each cold touch and clinging to John's hair as he leant in to try and shield her from the worst of it. "I've made arrangements for one of the private parlours. I thought it might be more… restful."

He finished speaking just as they reached entrance. Entering the warmth of the building was a relief, followed by the far less welcome realisation of rowdy noise levels inside. "Thank goodness," Margaret said with feeling under her breath, already exhausted at the thought of being amongst that din for very long. Her words were low enough to escape the notice of those nearest them, but it was enough to make John's lips quirk up.

The room they were shown to was small but far quieter. Margaret immediately hurried to the fireplace to warm herself, while John made requests for something warm to eat and drink and handled the payment.

"Better?" he asked with amusement as he finally shut the door. He quickly copied her and began to strip off his damp hat and coat, and loosen the fastenings at his neck and wrists as he went. He hesitated for a moment over each button, his eyes suddenly darting back towards the still closed door. But though it may have been even more lacking in caution than their behaviour on the train, they were each damp through and in need of drying. Margaret only had to let him see her wry amusement over the abundance of caution before he willingly rolled up his sleeves and joined her by the fire.

Just as he reached her, there was a particularly loud gust outside followed by the thump of loose shutters. A few angry voices began yelling and Margaret jumped, startled, as John leapt forward to steady her.

"I do believe it might be getting worse outside," he said as he gazed down at her. Blushing, Margaret directed her eyes back to the fireplace, but she made no move to disentangle herself from his arms and he made no move to step back once she'd relaxed against him.

"I think you must be right," she replied as another gust blew up and the shutters to their own room began to join the shaking and juddering of the building even though the latch on them was still securely fastened. John only tightened his arms around her a little and she sighed, quickly ignoring the wind again. "I suppose it's too much to hope that they'll have enough rooms for all of the train's passengers…I'll probably have to share with those awful women from the carriage."

John shifted backwards sharply as he shook his head in disagreement, leaving her side feeling colder than before in his wake.

"That's why I asked for a parlour. Apparently most of us will be sleeping upright in chairs tonight as there aren't enough beds," he said, then paused. She caught him glancing at her from out of the corner of his eye before continuing quickly. "It may possibly last longer than just the one night, if the snow continues and the trains all stop. If you'd rather not— I'm sure I can find a place for myself downstairs, or have them change this room for a bed in one of the rooms set aside for the women."

Surprised, Margaret blinked at him. It was probably the sensible thing to do, she thought to herself automatically. But already the soft lines of his face were firming into an equally familiar—though no less beloved—reserved expression, as it seemed to dawn on him that he might have overstepped.

He began to draw back even further with a bow of his head, but Margaret fastened her hand onto his arm and pulled him up short before he could. "No, don't," she said, stepping closer.

John didn't move, holding himself perfectly still as she tucked herself against him and slipped inside the circle of his arms. She pressed her cheek to his chest until she could hear his heartbeat, and he stiffly brought his hands up to rest on her back. Then all at once he softened beneath her and wrapped her in a warm embrace, and the chill of his still damp clothes become nothing once she could feel the warmth of him beneath them.

"I would be very happy to share the fire with you tonight," she said softly against his chest, and the heavy breath of his answering sigh stirred her hair as he bent his head to kiss her crown.

"I do not wish to subject you to further unnecessary gossip," he said equally quietly.

"You know how little interest I have in most society, and more than most understand the means by which I may ignore it if I so choose. What business is it of theirs? This is a perfectly respectable parlour in a respectable inn, and that storm blew up quite out of nowhere. This was hardly planned, or, or—," Margaret replied. She refused to release her grip on him even as she was getting more frustrated with each word, until finally John had to calm her by smoothing her hair back from her face and smiling down at her. "Oh, but I only wish it were spring already," she finished in a rush as she felt her cheeks bloom hot beneath his gaze.

"And I, as well," he murmured as he lowered his head and kissed her again, this time on the lips.

The creak of the door alerted them before the prattle of the serving girl did, as she backed into the room with a large tray in her hands. Margaret and John sprang apart, and Margaret turned her blushing face towards the fire to hide the warmth in her cheeks while John spoke with the girl.

"Oh dear," she said with an embarrassed laugh after the girl had left. She pressed her hands to her cheeks to try and cool their heat, while John smiled unreservedly at her again from beside a small table now covered in bowls and plates.

"Come, eat while it's still hot. There's soup with bread and tea with biscuits," was all that he said in reply. But he carefully moved the small table with its heavy load until it was before the sofa, instead of in its place between two armchairs. Then he took a seat and opened his arms for her, so that she might tuck herself back into his side to begin eating.

She was still blushing, but Margaret had long discovered during the preceding months of their engagement that it was hard to be truly self-conscious when he looked at her that way. It was the same way he'd looked upon her at the station halfway between London and Milton, as if she was the only thing in his entire world and the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

John ate with only one hand, largely eschewing his spoon to simply dunk his bread in his soup so that his other hand might remain fastened tight around her waist. With each bite of her own meal, Margaret couldn't help looking over just to catch him watching her. Every time she bit her lip to stop herself from laughing again with embarrassment or licked the crumbs from her lips, his eyes darkened in the firelight until Margaret found herself swallowing hard after every mouthful. Once they were done eating, he whisked the table out of the way and drew the sofa closer to the fire by moving first one end and then the other on his own—so that he needn't call for help and interrupt the peace of their little private parlour.

Outside the wind continued to blow and wail, and Margaret thought she heard the loud, unhappy cry of a group of people that most likely indicated the first heavier flurries of snow. But with her dress finally dry and her belly full, she was content to shuck her boots and tuck her feet below her on the sofa so that she might recline against John and they might drift to sleep with her in his arms.


End file.
